


The Rebel and the Revolution

by bluestockng



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: 1770s, F/M, Rev War AU, Revolutionary War, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a bit of smut, colonial AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestockng/pseuds/bluestockng
Summary: Oyster Bay, Long Island NYThe Year of Our Lord 1779The colonies are in open rebellion, calling themselves the United States of America.  The Continental Army and the British Army fight viciously overpossession of Long Island.  Oyster Bay, a loyalist town, is overrun with the King’s Men, but anti-British sentiment grows even as the death grip tightens.Getting by on a mouthful of bread a day, young Jyn Erso is a career criminal, mere steps ahead of the past she longs to outrun.For better or worse, she stumbles into the arms of a mysterious British captain with secrets of his own…





	1. Cat and Mouse

The sun beat down upon Jyn Erso as she hurried across the cobblestones, dodging puddles in her leather slippers. Ordinarily, she might have taken her time and moved slowly through the throng of people, searching faces and gaits for an easy mark. Casually as the most innocent Church maid, she would bump into a stranger, put on a sweet face, and quickly take a coin purse or timepiece out of a pocket while its owner was distracted by her charm. This day, however, she needed to get away as expediently as possible.

Her most recent criminal endeavor failed; she simply should not have trusted the Hessian smuggler to uphold his side of the bargain. When he reneged on their deal, she stole his account books and made off. It had not been a brilliant strategic choice, but it had felt fitting at the time. Unfortunately, now she had to worry about angry Hessians and angry colonists who needed those armaments.

Jyn pushed past a handsomely attired gentleman with a cane, silently wishing she had the time to slip her hand into his pocket. Without the payment for the shipment, she might be going hungry tonight. At any rate, it was unsafe to remain in town for long. She did not have a single friend in the county who might give her shelter. Today of all days, Oyster Bay crawled with British troops. Colonists seethed in the shadows of buildings, watching and waiting as Queen’s Rangers passed by. Better to cut and run, steal a horse, escape in the night. She could go to Boston, perhaps. Jyn could run to a place where neither the revolutionaries, smugglers, or the British could find her and lock her away. Oyster Bay and Long Island were a powder keg about to explode: Jyn did not want to stick around to witness the explosion. Likely, the entire town would be caught in the blaze. It was safer to count her losses and get out before everything went up in smoke. 

She impatiently elbowed a pair of fashionable ladies out of her way. Ignoring their indignant shouts of protest, she hurried on, practically running through the streets. There was no need for polite civility now, not if she wanted to make it out of Oyster Bay alive before nightfall. Jyn left the Hessian smugglers at the docks, but they might have noticed their missing books by now. 

Jyn privately damned herself for wearing her most conspicuous dress for the occasion: a round gown of rich crimson wool was easily spotted amongst the drab navy, olives, and greys. Even with her soaked and muddy hem, she stood out in a crowd. With a little luck, the crowd might block her slight frame from view. Ducking and weaving, she forced her way through the crowd. Reaching the market, she snatched a heavy black shawl from the shoulders of an unsuspecting fish monger’s wife. Concealing herself beneath it, Jyn continued on.

It was fine and good to dodge and remain hidden, but she required an escape plan. She would not have the time to return to her lodgings, a ramshackle boarding house just off Bailey Street. It was hardly a living arrangement fit for a lady, but then Jyn Erso was never raised to be a lady. Brought to the colonies as a child from England, she lost her mother in a raid at Fort Loudacon. Her father disappeared with the British and he left her to the tutelage of a mountain man named Saw Gerrera. Saw told her that he had been raised by the Cherokee before running away; he fought with a tomahawk and being a child, she had believed him. Now, she had neither the time nor the inclination to think about her parents or the man who had raised her. The last she had heard, he was off fighting a guerilla war against the British in the backwoods of the Carolinas.

As she turned the corner, Jyn nearly ran into a Brittish officer clad in a bright red uniform with gleaming buttons. Immediately her hands went up, but not to surrender. Placing them delicately upon his lapels, she feigned panic. Jyn Erso had never been able to resist a man in uniform. Namely, because she liked to rob them blind. And men who spent as much time as this officer polishing their brass buttons weren’t likely to notice when she lifted their coin purses.

“Excuse me, miss,” the officer offered, reaching out his arms to steady her, “I did not see you.”

Her fingers nimbly ducked into his pocket, searching for something worthwhile she might sell for her supper. 

“Oh, you are most fine, sir.” 

He was a foolish fop; Jyn raised her eyes slowly to meet his. In her experience, men fell for the barest of her wiles. As his gaze swept her body, the red of her dress, the shining blue of her eyes, he was lost. Jyn’s fingers curled around the fine chain of a timepiece. Stepping away, she distracted and disarmed him from her bounty with a soft, coquettish smile. She could not resist flashing him a wink before continuing on her way. British officers were so easily bested. Glancing back, he still stood in the street, looking starstruck.

When she turned about, she ran into a British captain. This man, however, looked rather less pleased than his compatriot. 

“I saw what you did.” 

He caught her wrist before she could push past, holding her in place. Jyn could kick him in the shin and run, but he would surely raise the hue and cry against her. With so many British swarming already, she would never make it out of the city alive before nightfall.

“You saw nothing.”

“Do you make it your business to run into British officers?” 

Jyn could not place his accent: it certainly was not British. It lacked the upper-crust clipped syllables and smugness that repelled her. Instead, his voice was rich and thick, but cold. Italian? Spanish, maybe? What was a man like this doing in the uniform of a British uniform? Why did he not clap her in irons and drag her away to some wretched prison ship like they had her father?

“Actually, sir, I avoid the British whenever I can. Release your grip upon me. This is not the conduct of a gentleman.”

Jyn accentuated the British cadence in her own voice for good measure; if he were to arrest her, he might be more lenient with someone he thought supported his cause. The man slacked his grip a bit but did not release her to abscond. He leaned in as close as his height permitted. She liked the tan of his skin and wildly wondered what it might be like to kiss a man with a mustache.

“You best avoid me, miss.”

He threw his hands back to her and turned away with a clicking of hobnails against the cobbles. Unfortunately for the captain, Jyn Erso loved a challenge. If there was any way to guarantee their paths would cross again, it was telling her to do otherwise.

Jyn watched him go, but she would not let him get far. Jyn found herself a new mark. A mark who—if their recent encounter was any indication—would pose a challenge even for her considerable skills. He was a captain; he would likely know the password for the road out of Oyster Bay. If she played him well, he might even escort her himself.

 

Throughout the day, she stayed a street behind him. Like a wildcat, Jyn stalked her quarry, never allowing him out of her sight. He ran the daily gamut of officer life; he met with his underlings, he paid a boy to polish his leather thigh-high boots, , chased away unruly children who harassed a stray dog, he visited a loyalist merchant at his shop. Jyn found his goings-on rather boring and almost gave up the chase: could he not at least visit somewhere interesting, like a brothel? Why must these officer-types always appear so clean in their dealings? She regretted her decision to stay instead of flee.

As dusk began to fall, the captain emerged from his meeting with the merchant. She stepped into the shadows, pulling the black shawl closer around her face to hide her identity should he chance a glance back in her direction. Closely matching his footfalls half a street behind, she watched him duck into a side-street tavern marked with only a dilapidated wooded sign bearing the name Griswold Inn and a weather worn etching of a greyhound that clattered in the breeze.

Jyn knew the Griswold’s reputation; it was hardly the usual stopping grounds for a man of high British caliber. Only the most ignoble men journeyed there for entertainment of the basest sort: joys of the flesh and rowdy company. It was Jyn’s sort of place.

Slinking in a moment after him, her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light, cast only from tapers on the tables and the roaring fireplace. Harsh, hard men drank dark, stout ale and smoked their pipes, blowing puffs of strong tobacco into the air. A fiddler sat upon a stool, playing out a lively rendition of the Flowers of Edinburgh. In the dark atmosphere of the tavern, no man would notice the mud stains on her hem or her unkempt hair. Her natural beauty was pleasurably enhanced by the warm glow of the tapers; she took the shawl from about her shoulders. 

The intoxicating scent of boiling cabbage and venison stew and piping hot bread. This was her preferred bill of fare: hardy, rich food that could keep her belly full for a full day or two. Jyn’s stomach growled hungrily at her, calling out for the sustenance she had denied it. 

She spotted the captain seated at a rickety corner table, a mug already sitting in front of him. He cast his eyes down, as if inspecting the rough-hewn wood of the table. Boldly, she pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. For the briefest moment, his eyes registered shocked confusion at seeing her before he fixed his expression to one of mild disinterest. Jyn motioned to the fiery-haired tavern girl to bring her a tankard of cider. When the chit placed it front of her—looking mildly baffled by the presence of a woman who was clearly not a harlot—Jyn swallowed down the warm, spiced drink thirstily. It warmed her belly and helped her forget she had not eaten since the morning before. Embolden by the warmth of it, she spoke first.

“What would the King think about this place, I wonder? I would not think these brigands would make good company for one of the King’s finest.”

“You have been following me since noon. Why, I pray you will tell me, have you followed me all day, miss?”

He took a sip from his mug, lightly brushing at his lips with the corner of his own handkerchief. Jyn swigged at her own tankard, wiping her mouth on the corner of her sleeve. She wanted to scandalize him, to put him off his game. She could play the prim Englishwoman if she must, but Jyn sensed that this man would not be enticed by the charms of a dainty English rose. Already, he had removed his red coat and loosen the white neckerchief tied around his throat.  
_Excellent._

The fiddler struck up his fourth rendition of The Flowers of Edinburgh. For a moment, the captain seemed lost in the tune. Longed he for home? Where did he call home?

“You would think he might learn a different song.”

“I was curious. You could have had me dragged away by your gaily dressed friends…but you did not. Why, I know not. I decided to find out for myself.”

“You are a woman of curious deportment. You dress like a lady, a lady who wants to be noticed, but a lady no less. Your manner however, leaves much to be desired.”

“I have been told that British men fancy the wildness of colonial women, Captain.”

To emphasize her point—and her bosom, she settled back in her chair and uncrossed her arms. She watched his eyes through the flickering flame of the taper: she had piqued his interest, but he had more restraint than most. Damnable British fastidiousness! Jyn did not have time to play a long game, the Hessians and the smugglers would not wait for his British sensibilities. 

“You are a lady of the colonies? With that voice?”

“I am a lady of nowhere, sir. I call home wherever I lay my head at night.”

He leaned away from her, resting his back against the wall behind. Perhaps she had been too bold with her choice of words? Men usually were swayed easily by talk of the night and sleep and laying down. 

“I believe that we have use for one another.”

She drummed her fingers against the table, the slightest distance from the dripping wax. She had stayed awake many a long, cold night as a child pouring over her father’s leather-bound tomes, learning the names of places she would never visit by candlelight. Jyn always let the wax from her taper drip between her fingers: it burned her, but she loved the feeling all the same. 

“I am leaving Oyster Bay on the morrow, miss.”

Jyn withheld a smile. Instead, she tilted her neck, exposing inches of creamy white skin and a smattering of freckles longing to be traced by a gentle hand or a lover’s mark. She let her gaze linger a moment too long on his mouth before looking away. 

“Then you should be taking me with you, sir.”

“Why should I ever do that?”

Jyn thought she sensed a change in his town, almost that of curious amusement. He tolerated her because he enjoyed her. As the ruddy-faced tavern girl returned on her circle of the room, the captain bade her come over.

“Please bring a plate of Shepherd’s Pye for the lady, miss.”

“And for you, sir? What may I bring you?”

Flirtatiously, she moved closer, placing a pale hand upon the gold epaulet on his shoulder. If the girl had set her sights on the young captain for the night, she lost her gamble. 

“The black pudding and beef trencher, I think.” He told her, without sparing her the merest of glances. Affronted and thwarted, the tavern girl removed her hand as if scalded stalked off in a huff to fetch their meals. The captain would have been a fine catch for her; but he belonged to Jyn now. He would be her ticket out of Oster Bay, away from all those who would chain her.

When her food arrived, Jyn did not bother waiting for the captain. She savored the taste upon her tongue; the lamb was hearty and the crust buttery and flaky. It had been weeks since she had eaten a meal so divine. Lately, she subsided on whatever scraps she could scrounge in between shipments. When a deal went well she could live like a queen, however, her fortunes had not been so prosperous of late. 

“If you are so hungry, miss, I should request a second course.”

The captain picked at his food carefully; likely, he ate such meals regularly. The gleaming of his buttons and the unsoiled coat hanging on the chair indicated that he was not spending much time on campaign. Through bites of pye, Jyn tried to deduce the measure of the enigmatic man. 

A drunken man bowled past them for another table, nearly upending their plates. A glassy-eyed and painted girl scuttled along behind him; they disappeared through a door leading upstairs. Jyn saw the captain’s eyes fix on their exit before meeting her own.

“Will you tell me, miss, why I might have need of you?”

His voice remained resolute; he did not dip into entendre. All the same, she could tell that he was aware of her manipulations. Once or twice, his stare stayed upon her breast a moment too long. 

A stranger approached their table, reeking of stale ale and the stable. Dressed in ragged breeches and a stained linen shirt, he likely earned his keep mucking.

“Drink of tobacco for the beautiful lady?”

Tobacco was tobacco and it was rare to find generosity in a loyalist town. Jyn accepted the pipe gratefully; he handed her the clay bowl and she placed the reed between her teeth. Taking a puff, she blew the smoke in a ring through the taper’s flame before passing it back to its owner.

“I have heard tell that your General Cornwallis is struggling in the South. It seems the…climate has not agreed with him.”

Her eyes flitted to his own, but he gave no indication of his feelings on the matter. He looked at her with the same puzzled expression. His face settled into fine lines and shadows that even the pleasing cast of the shadows could not hide. 

“If you help me leave Oyster Bay, I can provide you information about a certain guerilla fighter giving your General much grief in the Carolinas.”

It was a dangerous play, of course. Jyn had no intentions of betraying Saw Gerrera, whatever the animosity she felt towards him for abandoning her. But if she could convince this man that she had information he needed, it might sweeten the deal. 

At the veiled mentioned of Saw, she saw the captain sit up a little straighter. 

“Saw Gerrera, you mean?”

By way of answer, she shrugged and took another sip. Her drink was disappearing quickly; better to move this endeavor along. As she had hoped, the mention of Saw Gerrera clearly piqued his interest. She laid her trap well. Jyn made a show of looking for coins with which to pay her bill.

“Miss, we both know you did not pawn that timepiece. You have no means of payment…allow me.”

He placed a few pence upon the table without waiting for a reply. 

“Saw Gerrera, then.”

“Perhaps we should discuss this matter privately? Have you a room here, sir?”

He leaned dangerously close to the flame; his eyes danced in the firelight. Wordlessly, he extended a hand to her across the table. The eyes in the room followed them as they crossed the room: the dashing British officer and his colonial prize. 

Jyn wondered why he did not sleep at barracks with the other soldiers, but her thoughts were quickly stymied when he pushed her against the barren wall of his room. She had not even the time to take in her surroundings. He pressed in close and she felt his hot breath upon her face. Without a by-your-leave, she sought his lips with her own and let restraint fly with the wind. The captain tasted of ale and smelled of smoke and cinders. His kiss was not gentle; he took her lips with a fervent passion that did not speak of British restraint. She had him. 

Pulling away, she held no intention of faking the innocent maiden. 

“Why did you spare me punishment?”

“You have far too pretty a neck for the hangman’s noose.”

As if for explanation, his mouth drifted there. He trailed hot, lingering kisses from her lovely throat down to the swell of her breast. Jyn longed for him to drift lower and lower until he could lift her dress over her thighs. But he had stopped at her breast.

“You may proceed, sir.” 

Jyn barely hid the impatience in her tone. 

“There are things I wish to do that a gentleman should not.”

His perplexing accent became husky, throaty, dripping with entendre. Breathlessly, Jyn pulled him to her. She knew, of course, what he wanted. She knew what all men wanted when they looked at her with dark and libidinous eyes. Why should she not also receive some pleasure for her trouble?

Pulling pin by pin, Jyn released the fastening of her gown, revealing her stays and petticoats bellow. She let the wool dress drift from her fingertips; the fabric hung seductively at the curve of her hip for a moment before dropping to the floor. With practiced expertise, Jyn loosened her stays and threw the garment away. The captain stepped out of his breeches and rid himself of his immaculate white shirting. 

Jyn could not have explained who grabbed whom first. In a flurry of movement, she lay prone upon the unmade bed with the captain hovering above her. She need not imagine herself far away as she usually did in such scenarios: in his embrace, the thin cotton sheet and moth ridden quilt felt like the finest silk upon her skin. 

He pressed ravenous kisses to her skin; she returned his fervor in kind. With an almost appalling directness, he grabbed her arse and settled himself upon her body. Through the haze of her own desire, Jyn knew she had made many mistakes. She knew not the layout of the room…she knew not if he would keep his end of the bargain…had they even struck a bargain? As he rocked his body against hers, Jyn could not help but wonder: in this game of cat and mouse, who was the predator and who was the prey?

 

Awaking first, Jyn knew that she could not wait for his escort. Something about this man concerned her. He had the manners and comportment of a British officer, but she knew him to be far more dangerous. Even though it had been her plan, it unsettled her deeply that his entire demeanor changed when she mentioned Saw Gerrera. He had liked her, of course, been bemused by her forwardness and spirit. Desired her, even. But he only played into her seduction after she spoke the name…

Quietly so as not to disturb his slumber, Jyn extricated herself from his tangled limbs in the bed. Distantly, she could hear the crowd in the tavern below cheering and singing raucously. A few notes of The Parting Glass drifted to meet her ears. The fiddler, then, knew a song or two after all.

Jyn dared not light a taper on the mantle. Instead, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the room’s blackness. Careful to remain silent, Jyn began a thorough search of the room. If she was fortunate, he would have written down the password for the road. She might still raise suspicion travelling alone this time of night, but sentries would likely take her for a whore and not ask too many questions.

She dug through his trunk, finding no trace of familial or sentimental attachments. No letters from a loving wife back home—thank God—but no obvious indications of vice either. Then, towards the bottom, under several layers of clothing, her fingers closed around what was unmistakably a dispatch case. In her time as a lawbreaker, she had stolen or intercepted enough to know what this meant.

Trembling, she forced its lid open to view its contents. Taking the first page, Jyn squinted as she struggled to read the cramped, flourished ink. 

_Captain Andor…General Washington…Culper Ring…interception…SPY_

At the sign of movement behind her, Jyn spun on her heel. She crumpled the paper in her hand and let it drift to the floor. 

“You would betray the man who raised you, Jyn Erso?”

“I have betrayed no one.”

He knew her true name, a name she had not used in years. In spite of her best efforts, her past returned to haunt her. Jyn Erso knew how to fight: she spotted several objects within reach she might yield as a weapon. The candlestick on the mantle seemed like her best option; it looked heavy enough to render him unconscious.

“I fear that you are too fickle for your sex, Jyn Erso.”

“You seemed to understand the workings of my sex just fine, captain.”

Now was not the moment to enrage him, she knew. Confident in her ability to fight scrappy she might be, but the captain had nearly a foot on her. He also possessed actual weapons and powerful friends. Still, her blind need for self-preservation trumped all.

“You are a continental spy.”

“I am.”

“What need have you for Saw Gerrera?”

She stepped towards the mantle, hiding her hands behind her back. In a moment, she could grab the candlestick and attack him. Surprise might give her enough time to escape to the tavern and into the night.  
“We need him to find your father, Galen.”

“My father is likely dead: he disappeared a long time ago.”

As if sensing her fear, the captain began speaking hurriedly. 

“He is not dead. At least, not yet. We think that he is a prisoner of the British…he’s helping them in the war.”

“Why must you require me?”

“Saw Gerrera is dangerous…he fights the British but he has no great love for the Continentals either. He might lead us to your father.”

“I have no knowledge of Saw Gerrera’s whereabouts. Find your introduction somewhere else. I have no affection left for him. I have no affection for any of this—or any of you. Leave me be.”

Jyn made to leave the room, but the captain stopped her with a hand on her arm, more gently than he stopped her earlier that day.

“You need to escape Oster Bay. If you help me, I will see to it that you are taken to freedom, wherever you desire.”

She frowned at him, contemplating his offer.

“Without me, you will never escape this town with your life. Whatever you run from, it will catch you eventually.”

Though she was loathe to admit it, Jyn knew that he was correct in his assumptions. Why did she always find trouble? As far as she could understand, she had little choice in the matter. This would be a difficult road to travel, indeed.


	2. Dawning of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After discovering the true identity of her dashing British captain, Jyn must grapple with their indiscretions the morning after.

Jyn supposed that guilt should be a far too familiar feeling by now; familiar enough to avoid it all costs. She had certainly backstabbed allies, consorted with strangers, and tread the boards enough in her time to recognize the sting Alas, too often she found herself giving into those earthly pleasures which resulted in the accursed feeling.  
She averted her eyes from the rumpled bedclothes and set herself to the task of making herself presentable. The Captain was downstairs, no doubt settling their debt from the night before. Playing the part of a gentleman while politely shrugging away questions about their less than clandestine rendezvous. Jyn kneaded her forehead with weary knuckles. 

There would be time for guilt and shame later. For now, she must manipulate this manipulator into taking her far away. She had no great desire to rejoin Saw Gerrera, but if it meant her freedom—and perhaps a bit of coin in her pocket—it might be worth the frustration and trouble. But only if she could turn the tide in her favor. On hands and knees, she bent down to the Captain’s officer trunk. With deft hands she rifled through its contents until she found the dispatch case from the night before. Jyn removed a page—the one with Washington’s name—and folded it carefully before hiding it behind the stomacher of her bodice.

“Safest there,” she whispered, “not as if he will get the chance to take this off me again.”

Jyn left the room, slamming the door behind her. Let him fetch his own damned trunk. She trudged down the staircase, emerging into the tavern below with rather less fanfare than she expected. Few patrons remained; those that did clearly nursed their drunken condition from the night before. The tobacco man remained hunkered in his corner, clutching his head. Only the red-faced bargirl seemed unfazed. At the sight of Jyn, she blanched and turned away, busying herself with clearing the detritus of a half-eaten meal.  
Jyn swept past her to sit opposite the Captain. He rested at their table from the previous evening, sipping idly from a cup of strong imported tea. Jyn chuckled darkly at the irony.  
“I am surprised you do not choke.”

If the hussy with the dishes overheard them, she would surely know their love affair turned sour. Ordinarily, Jyn might have paid her mind; attempted to stick below the girl’s skin like a splinter. Today, however, she was simply not in the mood. 

“Do you require a meal, miss? I would quite like to get on the road early this morning if the lady permits.”

In truth, her stomach grumbled unhappily as she eyed the untouched truncheon of butter scone and ember-smoked porridge. 

“I require nothing.”

“Good,” the Captain pronounced as a he stood up, placing his hat upon his and shrugging into his bright scarlet coat, “then I shall fetch my effects and we shall away at once, miss.”

Miss. The lady. As if he had not bedded her a few hours before! She had felt those eyes upon her breast, those lips upon her neck, those hands upon her thighs. Jyn took a tankard of cider from a sleeping drunk and gulped it down. For good measure, she delicately lifted his spare flintlock pistol and strapped beneath her petticoat. Jyn was no more a lady than he and the good Captain best not assume otherwise.

Jyn brooked no disagreement when the Captain suggested they make their departure with due haste. The torrid events of the night before had only temporarily robbed Jyn of her senses; there were still angry Hessians to avoid at all cost. If they found her they would not much care that she was a “lady.” Everyone the world over cared about money most of all, Jyn and the Hessians were no different. She had not played her cards wisely, she knew, but keeping her head downcast had never been one of her strengths.  
If it were not for the unpleasant silence between them, the walk might almost be pleasant. Though the sky remained dark from a storm the night before, Jyn rather enjoyed the scent of fresh rain on the light breeze. It danced about her, whipping strands of hair from beneath her delicate lace cap. A dumpy-looking woman passed by Jyn, leading a small pack of half-dressed brats. The woman looked at Jyn from the top of her disheveled head to the bottoms of her unpolished brogans and quickly averted her eyes. She grabbed the hand of her nearest child and scurried away without a second glance. Suddenly, Jyn became very aware of her soaked and muddy hem.

It was one thing to look the part of a hussy in a shady tavern with the glowing light of tapers flattering her every move. The dull light of day exposed parts of herself she wished to keep hidden. There was no drink to numb her senses, her tobacco to ease her mind. Just the knowledge that she remained in danger and that her strange new companion likely thought her a common harlot.

“You should take my arm,” the Captain muttered quietly as they made their way down the street, dodging carriages and puddles as they went, “surely even a lady of the colonies does not walk unchaperoned?”

She wanted to tell him that she had never been chaperoned in her life! Jyn longed to shake him and shout that she grew up buck wild in the swamps and back county of the Carolinas. She did not need a chaperone—especially not some pompous colonial spy—to guard her virtue. Jyn could watch after her own virtue, whatever pinched-faced wenches and homely women might believe.

Still, she was in danger, she needed out, and he was not possessed of an entirely unfortunate countenance. Their adventure might be altogether more pleasant if she could get him back into her good graces, preferably without bedding him again. Jyn took his arm stiffly, prudently ignoring the flash memory of herself beneath his body, bracketed by those same strong arms. 

The night before his touch inflamed her, but now he felt cold beneath the thick wool of his crimson coat. His eyes shifted carefully over the streets as they took in every movement of British soldiers as their well polished boots clicked against the cobblestones. The Captain seemed to notice everything; his gaze flickered over each woman strolling in fancy frocks, every child scampering in the street, and every plain-clothed colonial lingering in the shadows between stalls and walls. A man lurking in an alley leered at her, flashing his yellowed teeth at the sight of her red dress as he fumbled crudely with the front of his filthy rags.

Reflexively, she nudged a little closer to the Captain’s side. If he noticed her movement, he made no mention of it but instead continued to lead her confidentially down the street. Thankfully, they reached the livery stables in quick time, avoiding the condemnatory throngs as they took Mott street. The sign above the entrance creaked and moaned in the wind, beckoning them inside. Jyn made to enter first, but before she could move she felt the Captain’s hands encircle her waist and lift her up as easily as he might a feather.  
At first, she believed he might attempt an amorous encounter in the dark alleyway, however, he quickly set her down inside the doorway with a careful grace. Baffled, she raised an eyebrow. By way of explanation, he simply gestured at the large pool of rainwater that he had lifted her over. He followed behind her, trotting himself through the puddle without a care. For the briefest moment, he stood in the doorway, bent over her as he stooped to avoid a collision with the roof. 

In the dim light, she let herself take in the look of him. He had not shaved that morning, leaving a day of scruff upon his face. Not entirely unfortunate, indeed! She recalled wanting to know about the feel of his kiss. She had learned, certainly, but had been far too soused to remember. But then he shoved past her, intent on their timely departure. His trunk had been delivered for their arrival, deposited beside one of the stalls. She was sure that he had not noticed her deception yet, even though she knew he must have his dispatch case on his person. Even so, she dare not risk a hand trick to check, longing as she might.

The Captain had fine taste in horseflesh, she had to admit. His stead was a beautiful grey Arabian, long-legged and proud. He nuzzled the Captain joyfully but tossed his head testily when Jyn approached with outstretched hand. The horse, it seemed, would prove as difficult as his master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a battle to get here, but I'm glad to be back. To everyone who has patiently put up with my (multiple) leaves of absence: I don't deserve you, you are perfect, I hope you stick around. Fortunately, I have a detailed roadmap of where I would like to go with this, so expect plenty more in the coming months. My next upload will be for the #therebelcaptainnetwork and their Valentines gift challenge!


	3. A Man and His Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jyn and her infernal Captain prepare to make their escape. Who will be the greater hindrance: the enemy or the horse?

Incorrigible. That was the word her father had used, was it not, to describe a young Jyn Erso. “Implacable of heart, my dear,” he had said with a throaty laugh and a kiss to the crown of her head. Many nights she had spent upon his spacious lap at the work desk or else crawling into dusty corners searching for insects to befriend. Eventually, her dirty palms and scuffed knees would take her too far out of her father’s eyesight and he would leave his work, ever briefly, to pick her up and deposit little Jyn back within view. Remembering those nights became darker and blurrier with age until each night faded into a single memory in her mind: her father’s gruff voice murmuring low, holding her close as the single taper flickered and died. The words were not even for her, she was sure, but they brought comfort all the same. Sometimes, long after Mama had retired, he would hold her up to peer through his giant spyglass. Jyn squinted with all her might, but she couldn’t remember the shape of those glimmering, gleaming patterns in the night sky. She clung to the blurry images, her half-memories, wishing to remember more. Any idyllic childhood memories had been shattered by the events at Fort Loudacon. Even now, she shuddered to remember the iron stench of blood.

Jyn’s memory, unfortunately, captured the events of that horrible day far more clearly than those of her father’s embrace. Jyn, no more than six years old, convinced her mother to let her skip into town unaccompanied. Her own incorrigibility had doubtless saved her life. From a hiding place inside the cobbler’s barn, she watched as a tribe of Catawba warriors rode their horses through the town square, running down men and women alike. 

Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could still hear their thundering hooves and the hollers of the men who led them. Their faces were painted with black ash, their hands with crimson blood. Their war cries almost drowned out the shrieks of the dying and the keening of an abandoned child. Her silence was her only chance at survival and silent she remained through it all; watching as if transfixed. Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the windowsill, ill to her stomach, but unable to tear her eyes away. For more than an hour, she bore witness to the carnage around her. Still the lost child cried for its mother, until an invader came by and silenced her with a jagged knife across the throat. 

Alone, Jyn watched as they turned their hoses for the backwoods and the swamps. She waited until the horse hooves faded into the distance before turning and running for home. Her little legs ran faster than ever before. She trained her eyes ahead, refusing to look at the bloodied carcasses of her neighbors, the same neighbors who had handed her candies in their stores or waved to her on her trek into town. Now they slept where they had labored, littering their fields and their hearths. By the time she reached her family’s door, her heart felt as if it might burst in her chest. With shaking hands, she pushed open the door to find her mother lying upon the thread-bare rug, two cold, empty eyes staring up at Jyn but seeing nothing. 

Back out into the sun she had run, a sob caught in her parched throat. And lucky she was that it had caught, for surely any raiders who had heard her screams of fear and loss might have turned around to claim yet another prize. She turned her eyes to the bright blue sky, beseeching God—her mother’s God—to save her. With no answer from beyond, Jyn hid herself away in the family barn, hoping beyond hope to disappear forever among last year’s hay harvest. When two powerful arms wrapped around her and carried her down from the loft, sleep had overtaken her so strongly that she believed her father had returned for her. That, however, was not meant to be. 

It did not do to trouble herself with such things. The past—all of it—could not be changed or altered and at any rate, she in poor enough shape without relieving the loss of her parents. The events of the previous evening and morning were more than enough to be going on with. Not to mention that nasty business with the Hessian smugglers. 

Jyn crossed her arms and slouched against a wooden beam in the stable, determined not to look at her mysterious rebel companion. From the horse’s stall came the muffled rustling of wool and linen. She did not need a painful reminder of her indiscretions, even though his body—or what her cob-webbed mind could remember of it—had been particularly lovely. Only after she was sure of his decency did she turn around, clearing her throat as she did so to give him ample warning. This adventure, she determined, would remain purely professional from this morning on until their transaction was complete.

It would be easy, she decided, if he continued to act so coldly towards her. With the brim of his tricorn hat pulled down so low, she could not see his eyes but she sensed that the were not on her. As if ignoring her very presence, he turned his attention to his hateful horse. With gentle hands, he brushed the sleek Arabian down. Over the Captain’s shoulder, Jyn could have sworn that the horse threw her an angry look. 

Without a single word to Jyn, the Captain took his hellion by the bridle and led him into the street. Trundling behind, Jyn felt not unlike a scorned child. The Captain swung gracefully into the saddle, rubbing the horse’s neck. Silently, he extended a hand down to Jyn without even meeting her gaze. She would have rather the bastard make her walk.

“Do you require a hand aloft, miss?”

With a contemptuous look, Jyn stepped into the stirrup and swung herself up behind him. Though she was considerably shorter, she had taken plenty of horses on jaunts before. Return them before dawn, that was her rule. Horse stealing, after all, was a hanging offense.

No sooner had her rump touched down before the damn horse bucked and sent her sprawling of its hindquarters and onto the hard cobblestones below. Dodging a well-aimed kick of his leg, she rolled out of a puddle and sprung to her feet, panting. To his credit, the Captain was barely a moment behind her, jumping off his mount and taking hold of the leather bridle once more. 

“Kay!”

He gave the bridle a painful jerk.

“What has gotten into thee?”

The horse whinnied and stamped his feet. He twisted his face this way and that, ignoring the chastisements of his master.

“No more! No more, I say!” 

The Captain held the gaze of his voice before asking more calmly and quieter.

“She is a lady and we are escorting her to safety. She is a friend, so treat her kindly.” 

Kay tossed his head and snorted. Jyn watched as the Captain rubbed a hand down his mane and back.

“For me, then, old friend?”

Kay snorted but gave no more argument. Only then did the Captain turn to Jyn. He extended his hand to her, with far more grace and gentleness than she would have expected. Glowering darkly, she swung herself up behind him, folding her hands primly upon her lap. Let it be known, then, that Jyn Erso had no need nor desire to touch the infernal man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BAAAAACK. Thank you again to everyone for not abandoning me/the fandom. I'm still here, I'm just swamped with life and responsibilities and zillions of other things that aren't as fun as writing #rebelcaptain fic. The next chapter will be titled "The Highwayman" and that's when we'll really start to get into the action :)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @bluestockng where I reblog rebelcaptain content and occasionally stuff that was meant for my main blog <3 xoxo <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I wrote the first chapter as a one-shot for alexielmihawk as part of the May the 4th challenge with #TheRebelCaptainNetwork!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: @bluestockng


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